A Series of Unfortunate Events
by Iblis Kitsune
Summary: It is inevitable that the past catches up, no matter how hard you might run. This is the unfortunate tale of two lovers who find themselves in the hands of fate.


He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back and it occurred to him, they fell asleep on the couch again. It was the only thought on his mind as he stared up into the unfathomable shadows overhead. There was nothing else in his mind but that single thought like a leaf floating on a pond at night.

Rolling over set his body into a bout of pins and needles causing him to rest on his side. There was a window opposite him with its curtains drawn but behind it he could see the pale light of the street lamps against it. In front of the window was a television with characters talking mutely. The words on the television said 'Stand Up and Salute a Japanese Dawn', there were people saluting the Japanese flag and marching cheerily- school children.

School children; today would be his first day of work. His gut tightened uneasily and he squirmed as he lay. He felt... nervous. The flickering television bathed the floor close to it brightly, lighting an extended hand- a large hand. The man sleeping of the floor looked at peace- there was something wrong with this picture but the vaguest inkling of a memory slipped quickly into the black unknowns of his pool of thought.

The man had blue hair that was lit too brightly and too darkly at the same time as the television provided weak light that bloomed like warm breath in the darkness with faded edges that blended into the dark of the rest of the apartment.

There was an island, there was a kitchen, a wall with a hollow for a door way with no door and pure black shadows beyond. Some how he knew, this was his home. How long, he wondered, that he knew it? How long had he been living here? When did he sign up for a job? How long did he have to wait? When did he fall asleep? What had he done yesterday?

The questions rose with no feeling. No curiosity but rather as each assailed him, a concrete understanding of acceptance grew until the questions died like fire and drifted away like smoke.

He sat up still facing the television, a hand on the cushions for support. There was a blanket on his hip and he wondered if the man on the floor put it on him. What was his name?

"Grimmjow." He spoke it out loud, gave birth to the name for fear that to keep knowledge of the name in his mind, he would forget it like he forgot so much since he awoke. The man made no acknowledgment and the television flickered on. "Grimmjow." He said louder. The man snorted in his sleep. Uncerimoniously, he took a foot from off the couch and dug it into this Grimmjow's side. The other slapped at his foot and opened his eyes, wincing at the incandescent light of the television and rolling over to face the darker side. He glared angrily at the man who had woken up.

"What?" He growled.

"Its five o'clock." How did he know that? There was a clock on the television glowing red in its safe dark above the flashing lights. Grimmjow groaned and dropped back unto the floor, his head making a hollow sound. He could hit it... so much harder. The thought came and went like waves on a shore.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Don't you usually make it?" What was the order of their living arrangements? Grimmjow sat up.

"Make me a cuppa coffee, I need to piss." He kicked the blanket off and stood. He disappeared into the darkness, only his waist was visible. He was shirtless- two things were missing and the other stared hard at the notches of spine that ran from hip to the darkness above- something was wrong. Again, the urchin of his thoughts ran from his authority and into the shadowy maze of his London mind. This Grimmjow stretched noisily, his joints making hollow cracking sounds as he groaned loudly. Scratching his buttocks, he shuffled behind the couch and flicked on the light. It was yellow and spilled greedily into the dark of the room then it was locked out by a closing door.

He could hear urine hitting the toilet hard and a loud groan. It went on for a while and he closed his eyes- maybe he can go back to sleep. Today would be his first day of work. His gut squirmed and he sat up, suddenly antsy. He made it as far as the kitchen sink before inertia set in and he stifled a yawn and rubbed a burning left eye. Burning left eye- his eye, his left eye used to be... the kettle. It was red, shiny affair and he filled it forgetting about his left eye. He turned on the electric stove and put the kettle to boil.

Grimmjow wanted coffee but he wanted hot chocolate. It had to be a sweet affair with cream and whipped cream, vanilla and grated chocolate. The fridge had everything he desired- when had they shopped; who did the shopping?

The kettle screamed and he took it off the stove. One hot, black, bitter coffee for Grimmjow and a cup of hot sweet cocoa for himself.

Grimmjow came out of the bathroom, a towel on his hips smelling of cinnamon and apples.

"How many times have I told you keep your shit on the other side of the shower?"

"Because that is where the toilet is."

"Exactly." Grimmjow grunted, "Now I'm gonna go to work smellin' like a blasted Christmas morning."

"That was the name of the wash." Grimmjow yanked the fridge open violently and took out eggs, milk, butter, sausages and blueberries. He slammed it shut and spun around to face the other, quietly nursing his hot chocolate. "It wouldn't hurt to read before you use."

"Now tell me who the hell reads before using things in their shower? Its a shower not a blasted library!"

"Its a good thing I don't keep the lye in there then." He answered in clipped tones. The lye... was kept under the kitchen sink. Who put it there? When did he put Christmas Morning in the bathroom; when did he buy it- what shop- what was beyond this apartment? What... was he just thinking?

Grimmjow picked up his coffee- the mug had a cat on it- a lion- a leo; Grimmjow was a leo? That made him a, he looked at his cup- scales.

"Ulquiorra!" The man looked up.

"Yes?"

"Don't you have an appointment today?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure about what you signed up for?"

"It suits me. Don't you agree?"

"Yes but... Primary School?"

**AN-R&R ^.^**


End file.
